


So Long & Goodnight

by downeylove



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame, Gen, Iron Dad Spider Son, Nebula bonding with Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), This is not Happy, Tony is Peter's Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downeylove/pseuds/downeylove
Summary: Tony ponders his love/hate relationship with space while he and Nebula float aimlessly through it.





	So Long & Goodnight

The first time Tony visited space, he’d done it to save Manhattan, knowing full well he might not return. With Pepper’s image fading away in a last desperate attempt to contact her, he’d touched the untouchable. Reaching for the stars with a nuclear weapon on his back wasn’t one of his favorite achievements.

He had, of course, expected to make his first journey into space while donning one of his suits. But not like this. Not while tainting one of his oldest childhood dreams with fear and violence like so many of his dreams had been. No, this one was supposed to remain uncorrupted. Maintained by the possibility of discovery. Of a journey that he’d be delirious with excitement to take and finally make his younger, more innocent self proud.

Embracing the stars hadn’t been what he expected in the slightest. He brought destruction – just as he always does. And although he knows he did it for the safety of everyone on Earth, guilt dances in his mind, almost an equal partner to his newfound fear of the blackness of the universe.

That’s the second time he goes to space. Every time he shuts his eyes, he’s alarmingly aware of how infinitesimal he is compared to the endless domain before him. He’s not there physically, of course, but he can still feel the cold creeping in, the loneliness and terror. His body locks itself in place just as his failed armor had, trapping him in an iron coffin. Then his breathing becomes less and less until it is no more.

He’s not there physically, no, but he can still feel every inch of the dread he felt before it all went dark.

The third time he’s there, he’s not alone. But he wishes he was.

Peter didn’t listen. He _never_ listens.

 _“This isn’t Coney Island or some field trip. This is a one way ticket,”_ Tony had told him.

Peter had been so desperate to save the universe out of the goodness of his heart. Not out of fear or responsibility, but because it was the right thing to do. Peter had always been an inherently pure person, and Tony admired the way he trekked into space without a second thought. Without an ounce of fear.

But with Peter in space with him, two of his worst fears had happened in the same instant. He tried so hard to keep him safe. And now –

He’s left with nothing but a pile of ash and no hope of escape.

Ultimately, Tony was resigned to the fact that he would never have to visit space again. Not after this last time. The fourth time.

Nebula heaves him up and drags him onto a ship he assumes belonged to the dead Guardians and buckles him in. She’s surprisingly gentle for being half machine and he watches as she starts the ship and launches them into space. He doesn’t want to go, but he’s too weak and weary to resist.

The fate of the universe had been sacrificed so that he could survive. And he’s not sure who’s still alive. Steve? Bruce? Natasha? All dead, he presumes, his greatest nightmare finally coming to life. His friends, his family, all dead. _Pepper_. All dead because of his inaction. His inability to deliver the final blow. And now he’s in space again, and the cold is creeping.

It’s Pepper who his mind lingers on during his every waking moment. And in his dreams. Thankfully, he’s spared from his near constant nightmares. His body is too tired to create the images of horror that are the subject of his usual dreams. An odd thing to be thankful for.

When the power of their ship is depleted and Tony does his best to fix it with little result, he and his new companion simply float through space toward an unknown destination. They’re completely alone now, and they don’t speak, but he notices that her face twinges in pain each time she moves. Her joints creak and she’s constantly adjusting parts and disassembling herself.

As he’s staring out at the stars, thinking of his childhood and how excited he knew his younger self would be if he knew that one day, he’d get to experience this vast wasteland of wonder and beauty, he hears shuffling behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, he spots her carrying her own hand as she slumps in front of a tool box. He struggles to open it. Once. Twice. Three times she fails to unlatch it and picks it up with her one good hand, sending it sailing across the cockpit to where Tony stands. He tears his eyes away from her as the box skids to a halt in front of him. Tony picks it up and carries it over to her.

“May I?” Tony asks, already opening the tool box.

He sits in the chair next to her. They’d been on this ship for over a week and a half now and had barely occupied the same space for more than a minute, both too in shock to process their situation properly.

She looks at him warily, tears in her eyes somehow. She nods just as he takes her dismembered hand and examines it. He can see where the wires have burned and charred their casing. It probably sends a sharp twinge through her each time she moves a finger.

He rummages through the toolbox, and finds a variety of brand new looking wires. He rips out the wires in the hand and replaces them slowly, keeping his eyes on his work as she watches him. He feels her eyes boring into him. His neck prickles with the sensation.

“You’re from Earth,” Nebula says quietly.

“You’re not.”

“You’re good at that.”

His fingers move swiftly, replacing wires, cleaning the casing and making the hand look like new. He holds the newly refurbished hand up for her to see, silently asking to attach it. She holds her arm out.

“It’s what I do,” Tony says solemnly, clicking the hand into place.

Tony watches as Nebula adjusts it on her wrist, wiggling her fingers. The normal twitch of pain on her features is replaced by a calm, almost _happy_ expression. He wonders how long she’s had to deal with the chronic pain her mechanical parts must cause on a daily basis.

“What are you?” Tony asks quietly. He hopes it’s not a rude question to ask, but then again, he’s not sure if he cares one way or another. It’s hard to care anymore. About anything.

Nebula stares at her painless hand before answering, “A machine.”

Tony nods, closing the tool chest once everything is properly stowed again. Just as he’s about to stand and shuffle away, she speaks again, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“I’m a Luphomoid,” she whispers, “Thanos killed my entire race. Everyone except for me. I’m all that’s left.” She looks away from Tony, “He took me.”

Tony’s body goes rigid. _Took her_? 

He knew very little about Thanos. His vendetta to massacre half the universe was all that mattered. Now that the immediate threat had diminished, he’s glad he knows more about him. How delusional and unbalanced his mind truly is. The inner workings of a madman.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, his eyes shining in the light of the blinding nebulae surrounding them.

She looks back at him again, remaining silent.

Tony stands, clutching his side and hissing. When he nearly crumples, Nebula catches him and eases him back into the chair.

“I saw you fight him,” she says, going over to a compartment in the side of the ship and pulling out the medical supplies.

“Yeah, not my best performance,” Tony hisses, lifting his shirt over his head and looking down at the festering wound in his side. “I should’ve died,” his words dripping with melancholy.

Whens he returns to him, Nebula shakes her head, “You fought bravely.”

Tony scoffs. “Didn’t make much of a difference.” His laugh turns into a gasp as she scrapes away the nanites he’d used to seal his wound on Titan. She dabs at it with what looks like an antiseptic of some kind. It stings.

“You made him bleed.”

Tony laughs again, a jab of pain ripping through him from the force of it, “Might as well have been a paper cut for all the good it did.”

“I’ve never seen him bleed,” Nebula offers.

She cleans his wound thoroughly as their words die out. Once the wound is looking much better than it had five minutes prior, she places a bandage over it and hands him his shirt. He takes it silently and pulls it over his head.

Tony lumbers toward the food storage container and peers inside. There isn’t much left. They have to be careful about their consumption now. Closing it, he looks over at her.

“We’re running out, aren’t we?” Nebula sighs, replacing the med kit where it belongs.

He simply bows his head in response. With no power and their waning food supplies, they’ll be lucky if they last more than a month.

 

* * *

 

From then on, they divide up their rations to the lowest possible portions. Nebula eats her one eighth of a portion and takes one of three gulps of water she’s allowed for the day while Tony works on her mechanical eye that keeps popping out of place.

He’d offered to fix it just after it popped out and showed a video recording of Thanos standing in front of her, donning the gauntlet and looking menacingly down at a green woman with dark hair and a troubled expression. The only sound he could hear from the recording was the screams of Nebula as every piece of machinery was pulled in every possible direction.

He remembers his own screams, deep in the caves of Afghanistan. Tony shudders before focusing on his work, avoiding looking directly into her eyes.

When she doesn’t offer any explanation for the video, he chances a question, “He did this to you?”

For a long time, Tony thinks she won’t answer and he’s fine with that – it’s none of his business. But then, he notices her looking at him curiously and he tilts his head in response.

“He made me and Gamora fight each other. Trained us.” Her remaining eye darts down to the part in his hand as his fingers handle each component carefully. “Each time I’d lose, he’d replace some part of me with a piece of machine.”

Tony’s movements stop and he presses his lips into a thin line. Pieces of her replaced with machinery in an attempt to perform better. To _be_ better. Is it not the same when his heart was replaced with a battery? _More machine than man_ , the headlines would say before his capture. Seeing him as the cold, war profiteer they’d always thought he was. Until Afghanistan, he scoffed at the headlines, too vain to care. Little did he know how right they’d be.

He thinks of his torture, his pain. And he can’t _imagine_ himself in her place. Tony would crumble.

“Gamora?” Tony resumes his work, not taking his eyes from her.

“My sister.” Nebula shakes her head and turns her good eye away from him, presumably to hide the tear trailing down to her chin, “He killed her.”

 _He killed everyone_ , Tony thinks bitterly. _Everyone except us_.

When Tony is finished repairing her eye, he gently replaces it where it belongs and she blinks a few times to ensure that it works.

“How’s that?”

Nebula reaches up to touch the eye, a smile teasing her lips. “Thank you.”

As Tony packs away the tools and fastens the chest closed, Nebula watches him.

“That boy on Titan,” she says, “Was he your son?”

His body goes rigid and he can remember the feeling of Peter collapsing in his arms, crying and begging to be saved. He couldn’t do a thing to stop him from vanishing. Always too late. He remembers lowering Peter to the ground and watching as he faded away with _I’m sorry_ on his lips.

Tony sucks in a sharp breath and pushes the tool box, “I–”

“I’m sorry,” Nebula holds her hand sup in defense, an odd gesture, Tony thinks. Did she think he was going to strike her?

“It’s–It’s fine, I just,” Tony shakes his head and presses his fingers into his legs to stop their trembling, “It’s fine.”

Tony offers her a tight smile and stands, taking the toolbox over to its resting place. He leans over it and stifles the sob that threatens to rip through his chest. He’d been holding off his own grief for so long, he hadn’t been aware that it was so close to bursting. He hadn’t _allowed_ himself to think of Peter.

His body trembles as he weeps over the dirty tool chest, holding onto it for dear life, tight enough to dent the metal even in his meek state. He doesn’t let go – like he let go of Peter. He cries and cries and cries until his voice grows hoarse and his knees buckle. A hand on his shoulder makes him jump. The pressure is firm and he stills. Nebula’s fingers squeeze him gently, offering the stability they lack here in the depths of the universe – the place he once longed to be and is now unable to escape.

She doesn’t speak to him while he cries. What can she say? Absolutely nothing. Peter is dead, and he’s responsible.

Finally, his tears dry and he heaves himself from the ground with great effort, turning to face her. “Sorry,” Tony mutters.

She shakes her head, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Tony shrugs, the corners of his lips lifting, “I’m surprised you didn't ask sooner.”

Nebula’s face softens and she goes over to the food container to pull out their daily rations of food and water. She pauses, looking into the container.

Tony frowns and approaches her, looking in for himself. Two rations left. One for her. One for him.

“Well, it had to happen sometime,” Tony posits. He tears open the small portion of food and pops it into his mouth. No use trying to savor the tasteless grey material. It doesn’t matter.

Nebula follows his lead and takes a drink of water before handing him the canteen. He washes the small amount of food down and replaces the canteen in the food container. They share an unsteady glance before parting ways.

 

* * *

 

After their food runs out, Tony starts becoming far too aware of the decreasing oxygen levels. They’ve been declining slowly ever since they lost power, but until now Tony hadn’t worried. It’s not like they can ration their air supply. He can feel their journey nearing its end.

He’s ready for it to be over. He’s ready to finally _rest_. But Nebula – he aches for her. She’s too young to die a cold, lonely death in depths of space with only him for company. After such a miserable life with Thanos.

Throughout their trip, she’d allowed him to fix various parts of her malfunctioning machinery. It was difficult work and she kept his mind off the dark expanse closing in on them. She’d pointed to his helmet once and asked if it still worked. “It doesn’t,” he replied. So when he finished working on her, he decided to try and repair the helmet.

It took days. And when he finally, _finally_ managed to get it working, he’d sent multiple distress signals to his satellites in hopes that someone, _anyone_ would find them.

His hope has run out.

Once the oxygen levels dip below five percent, he can feel the hypoxia settle in and he knows what he has to do. He secludes himself in the tightest corner of the ship and sets the helmet in front of him. Leaning against the wall, he stares at it before reaching for it and engaging the holo recording.

He wheezes quietly, sweat dripping down his face. “Hey, Miss Potts,” Tony begins, his heart clenching uncomfortably as it slows in his chest. “If you find this recording, don’t feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end.” He inhales sharply again. The air is thinning around him. “I did what I could. Now it’s someone else’s turn. I’m tired, Pep.”

He spots movement in the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t care. He turns his head away and rests it against the wall of the ship, “Food and water ran out four days ago. Oxygen will run out soon. And that’ll be it.”

A few tears slip down his cheeks as he stares into the eyes of the helmet, pretending, _wishing_ they were Pepper. “When I drift off, I will dream about you. It’s always you.”

He turns the recording off and keeps his hand resting over the face of the helmet, bowing his head low.

After several minutes of silence, Nebula finally approaches him, sitting at his side and staring into the dark eyes of the helmet, “I always thought I would die in battle.”

Tony gulps in a large breath, but it’s not quite enough to satisfy him. He simply stares at her curiously, tears still shining in his eyes as his head grows heavy. He blinks a few times and the tears slip down his dirty cheeks and into his overgrown beard.

“Thanos taught me to fight. _Made me_ fight,” Nebula laughs, although it sound more like a gasp, “I thought I would die trying to kill _him_.”

“But he won,” Tony whispers, defeated.

“But he won,” she agrees.

They sit in silence for what feels like hours, though he’s sure it only could have been minutes. His foggy head brings time to a stop and he looks out periodically at the blackness surrounding them, swallowed by bright colors and stars that have long passed.

He looks over at Nebula who has her eyes shut, her head leaned against some cargo netting. His chest fills with dread and he gathers enough air to speak, “He wasn’t my son.”

Her eyes flutter open and she peers over at him.

“He was the closest thing –” he sucks in another sharp breath, “He was the closest thing I had to one, but he wasn’t my son.”

Everything around him feels heavy and foggy, and all he can see are the colors outside the window. So many colors. They’re too bright for his weak eyes, so he closes them.

“Stark–” Nebula wheezes.

His throat closes up and he can feel the exact moment when the oxygen has all but vanished. The weight pressing against his chest gets heavier and thicker until he can’t feel anything anymore. Not the sweat, not the cold, and not the suffocating vacuum of space.

As he drifts off finally, his mind lingers on his makeshift family. The woman he loves, holding his heart and keeping him strong. The boy he lost, too early for his time. His best friend, frayed and broken and alone. He’d failed them all in one way or another, but he won’t fail them any more. Not now as he slips into a dreamless sleep, resting among the stars he’d admired, then feared.

And now he’s one with the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to kayytx for proofreading this! She puts up with so much <3
> 
> This is my way of coping with the Avengers: Endgame trailer that just came out.


End file.
